


His

by ThereWillBeCubes



Series: Yandere Free! [1]
Category: Free!
Genre: Abuse, Captivity, M/M, Yandere, Yandere!Haru, non-con, psychological abuse, yandere free!, yandere free! halloween
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-23 19:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto has been with Haru for many days now, but not by choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as part of the Yandere Free! Halloween prompt this year on tumblr. I kind of surprised myself.

“Eat.”

I tremble, feeling the warmth rising from just beyond my lips. I cannot see him past the cloth, but I can hear his calm breaths, smell the curry mingled with sickening antiseptic. I dare not move, but slowly, I part my lips, and feel him delicately place the food on my tongue.

Green curry. My favourite.

“Do you like it?” he purrs, and I give a tense nod in the direction of his voice. The smell floods my nostrils again as he holds up another piece. I eat this one too, and another, and another, until-

“Thankyou, b-but I am full,” I murmur, shifting slightly. I hear the dull tinkle of chains, and my wrists burn where they have been tied, stuck behind my back. There is a slightly displeased huff, and my heart constricts. I hear him move a little closer to me, and I will myself not to move, don’t move. There’s heat pressed to my mouth.

“No, eat more, you haven’t had enough,” he says in a low voice. I know what he’s going to do. But I can’t just roll over.

I shake my head, feeling food smear around my lips.

“Don’t you like it? I made it how I remembered, you could never have enough… before… you need a lot of food, Makoto…”

“I, please, I don’t want any-”

His other hand grips my mouth as I speak, forcing the jaw to stay open, and shoving the chopsticks inside. I try not to gag as the offending pieces of wood stab my tongue, forcing the food into my throat. I try to close it, but with a snarl I am forced back against the wall, and I can feel his chest heaving against mine.

“Makoto-” he says in a low growl, and a thrill of fear runs through me. I go limp, letting him force more into my mouth, until there is none left. There’s a brush of cloth as he wipes my face of stray rice and spittle. The back of my throat burns, and I hear him sigh.

“I won’t let you starve, Makoto,” his voice says, now softer, lulling, “I have to look after you… I won’t let you waste away.”

I let out an involuntary whimper at the dark undertones. Slender fingers cup my jaw, his other hand slowly working their way down my back. They stop where my hands meet, and when they brush against my skin, I let out a yelp.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, my Makoto,” he whispers in my ear, and his hands untie the blindfold, letting it fall to the cold floor. His blue eyes, once so beautiful, shimmer with strange, unwelcome darkness as they bore into my own. His hair is swept over his forehead perfectly, and while he doesn’t smile, his expression is still territorial.

“One day,” Haru says softly, fingers still on my face, “when I know you won’t run away, I can take these off, Makoto.”

 

-

 

I sit perfectly still, shivering in the cool air. In front of me is nothing but bathroom tile, my feet flat on the tub’s bottom. Haru sidles up beside me, dressed only in his jammers, holding the showerhead. His eyes sweep down my form; all my clothes have been stripped off, and sitting there, naked in his bath, I have never felt more exposed to him. He turns on the taps, letting the water fill up around me, the gentle rain from the shower hitting my back.

My wrists burn as the droplets bounce off of them.

“Here, Makoto, let me wash you,” Haru says, and without waiting for a reply, leans over and begins to lather my arms. They are unbound, but I am not. A collar is around my neck, attaching to a spot in the floor beside the tub. I had never seen that small silver ring before Haru chained me there.

Before Haru chained me to him.

As he moves slowly around my body, silently scrubbing, I fight the rise of nausea in my belly and chest. My breathing is becoming constricted, almost painful, and with each new intake, a new flutter of panic around my heart. I grip the sides of the tub, and Haru stares.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes glittering, though whether from concern or anger, I didn’t know. With Haru, the two were interchangeable. While he screamed and forced and hurt, he told me in the same breath that it was all for me, that I would be happy with him. That I never needed to leave him.

What was wrong? Did he actually believe in what he was doing?

But I had to keep him calm. I felt his hand curl around my chin, and he forced me to look at him, his deep, fathomless eyes narrowed.

“Makoto. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I- I don’t k-know… Haru…”

He grips tighter, eyes boring into me.

“I- I just don’t feel well… I feel sick…”

And for a moment, I think he is going to hit me, for saying that about us, about him. But instead, his eyes soften, and he picks up the sponge again.

“I’ll just have to fix that then,” he says, resuming, “for that… you’ll need a bed to sleep in, won’t you, my Makoto?”

He gazes at me, expression soft, and pushes back a stray hair on my face, tucking it behind my ear. He then leans in, pressing his lips to mine, tongue slipping outwards, seeking entrance.

At the very beginning, I would not allow it. I fought, I cried, I begged. But Haru won.

I let his tongue move into my mouth, feeling it moving around with sickening familarity. I pushed back with my own only minimally, just to keep him happy… and when he draws away, he looks more like his old self, face in a slight blush, his mouth upturned in a small smile.

“Yes,” he said softly, reaching down to remove the plug, “you’ve been such a good boy, Makoto.”

But now, as he rinses me, the water pressure is turned low, gliding along my skin, and he kisses me as he does so, lips gliding over long-faded bruises.

“I love you, Makoto,” he says between presses, tongue slipping out to lap at the glistening skin, “I’ll look after you, like how you looked after me..”

When he finishes, I shiver as the water cools on my skin.

“Stand up, Makoto, you can get out now,” he says quietly, and I do so, letting him wrap a towel around my shoulders. He frowns at my arms and chest as I tremble there slightly, and glances at my legs.

“Your muscle tone is weakening, Makoto,” he mutters, but what can I say? I haven’t moved more than a dozen consecutive steps for who knows how long now. I feel a wave of renewed nausea, he couldn’t possibly blame me for not being able to move?

“I-I haven’t been swimming or running in a long time, Haru,” I reply as gently as I can, as his eyes flick up to meet mine, looking upset.

“I feed you well, I look after you,” he says unhappily, beginning to towel me, “but you’re… right. You haven’t been out for over three months-”

I know I wasn’t supposed to know that. Haru’s mouth snaps shut, but apart from his arms moving more vigorously, he doesn’t give any other indication to his emotions.

He wordlessly hands me clothing, and I recognise the shirt and shorts; he’s acquired more of my clothes. I feel myself burn under his impassive gaze as I dress as quickly as I can, but stop. I can’t put on my shirt with the collar around my neck. Haru looks at me expectantly; I shakily sit on the floor, lifting my chin and stretching out my legs. With practised ease, Haru binds my feet together, before his hands snake upwards to my neck.

“Makoto,” he says as he unlocks the collar, “this is easy now, isn’t it? When you don’t fight me… things can be so easy…”

He presses a kiss to my jaw before grabbing the shirt. I lift my arms and he slips it over my head. I watch him go to get the rope-

“Haru-” I choke out, my wrists throbbing, “please, I can’t stand the pain anymore. I promise I won’t try to run away, I promise. Just not the rope, please.”

My raven-haired gaoler regards me for a moment, and I feel a shiver of fear up my spine at the darkness of his eyes. Once I loved to look at them, precious things, lighting up in their own way, his passions few and far between. The last time they had done so was at the festival; under the fireworks. I had never seen that Haru again.

“Haru?”

He grabs my wrists roughly, and I cry out in pain as he twists the skin, trying to tug them out of his grip.

“Won’t try?” he hisses, and too late I make myself go limp. The rope is tied more tightly than before, and tears spill out of my eyes as my inflamed flesh burns. Haru’s breathing is ragged as his eyes flick from my wrists to my face, before pulling me towards him.

“Won’t try? One day, I’ll believe you, Makoto,” he whispers, “but not today.”

 

-

 

“I love you, Makoto.”

I feel my mouth drop open, Haru’s eyes glitter with determination as he stares at me, his declaration hanging in the space between us. He’s waiting. Fireworks continue to burst behind us, illuminating his face in strange fire.

Did I love him too? Of course. But I know Haru doesn’t just mean the love we have shared since we were children, I know he means a different love, romantic love, the way he is staring at me. It was too much. This was his response to my leaving? To my dream?

Did he think he would change my mind about leaving?

“I- I love you too, Haru,” I say quietly, but there’s warning in my voice. Haru picks up on it immediately, his expression turning quickly from joy to suspicion.

“Then what is the matter?” he replies bluntly, moving forward, grabbing my arm in the same way I had taken his only minutes earlier. His face is hard, but I can see the shimmer in his eyes.

“I love you, Haru, I do… but this is my dream.”

His hand grips even tighter; painfully so.

“Haru, that hurts!” I say, trying to free my arm, but he doesn’t let go, and there’s something fearsome in his expression.

“Why do you want to leave? Leave me?”

“I- I don’t want to leave you! But to fulfill my dream, I have to go.”

“Am I not enough for you?”

Haru remains ahead of me, his face murderous, and I am suddenly terrified. I have never seen him like this, breath coming out in deliberate bursts, mouth curled slightly in a snarl.

“Don’t you love me?”

I yank my arm out of his, drawing it to my chest. Bruises are already blooming there, violet and rose and soft, sickly yellow. They start to run up my arm, and I feel deep pain as they spread over my chest, insidious roots going deep into my stomach.

“I love you, Makoto.”

This time it’s whispered like a prayer, reverent and sure. We’re no longer by the beach, but Haru still stands ahead, but his eyes glimmer with fire and his hands drip red. I’m back in the room he first brought me to, hands cuffed above my head, my chest heaving. My stomach turns as I notice forms littered around his feet, familiar ones, with hair of blond and blue and red and black. He smiles at me.

“I love you, Makoto.”

He seems to melt into the floor, first skin, then flesh and bone, distorted and shifitng. All around me, shadows are rising, black spectres, but each with a pair of brilliant blue ocean eyes. I am sitting on the floor, unbound, but I cannot move, my heart seized with horror and fear. All of their mouths open as they swarm around; every time they bump into me setting off an explosion of pain on my skin.

“I love you, Makoto,” they all say at once, in his once beloved voice, and all converge on me in a single swoop.

 

I howl.

 

My legs kick out, snapping painfully as the chains stop them from going very far. I snap my eyes open, gasping for air, and I don’t know whether I am grateful the blindfold is off.

I’m in a different room, chained to a single bed, blankets tucked around me. There is a single window that has been locked shut, curtains drawn, but as my eyes roll around, heart pounding with terror, I don’t want to be here.

Haru had been busy, I’d always admired his artwork, and he knew it; papering the wall opposite the bed with drawings and paintings of he and I. Most of the works feature the two of us together, hand in hand, lying on the beach, swimming together, in passionate embraces…

I can hardly bear to look at them.

The wallpaper itself is a soft green, one of my favourite colours, and on the bedside table he’s placed an orca plushie, hand-stitched, with a green saddle-patch.

I take in deep breaths.

My heart stops momentarily as the sound of a bolt sliding back comes from the door. It opens, and Haru stands in the gloom, looking at me.

He walks over to the bed, putting one of his hands on my cheek. I fight the urge to draw away.

“I heard a yell,” he said quietly. I swallowed thickly.

“Ju-just a nightmare, Haru,” I replied, and he seemed to believe me. His hand begins to stroke my hair.

“What about, Makoto?” he asks, and I grow cold inside as I remember; the pain, the shadows, the bodies, _Haru-_

“I- I dreamt my family was dying,” I lied shakily, but it was easy to say, “they- they were calling out my name, and I couldn’t help them, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything…”

And I begin to sob, real tears sliding down my cheeks, a little moan escaping me. It was terrifyingly easy to imagine them in that situation, now.

“It was, it was so horrible, Haru,” I finish, trembling. Can I see compassion in his face as he leans towards me?

His lips brush my cheek, kissing the tears away. He’s making soothing noises, fingers worming through my hair.

“You always think about everyone else, but yourself, don’t you, Makoto?”

He grips my chin, eyes lidded as he gazes at me.

“But you don’t need to do that anymore, my Makoto,” he says in a soothing tone, “you don’t have to think about anyone but me. I will look after you, forever. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

And as he wraps his arms around me, settling next to me on the bed, he says the words that put my heart into a vice-grip;

“I love you, Makoto.”

 

-

 

I lie awake for as long as I can, feeling Haru shuffle around me, gripping me in his sleep, but as grey light seeps under the curtain, I feel my eyes slowly close, exhausted.

When they open again, Haru is gone.

I let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling. It too, is painted in delicate white and green stripes, and for a moment, I feel twisted awe at the lengths Haru has gone, to make me “happy.”

I shuffle a little, and let out a yelp. My wrists hurt terribly, rubbed raw, and my back and legs ache. Despite the balanced meals Haru has been forcing down my throat, for at least 3 months now I have done little more than sit and lie in poor positions. I can feel myself weakening with each passing day, and with a sudden stab of revelation, I wonder if this is part of Haru’s plan to keep me here. Chip me down until I cannot even walk without his help.

“ _I will look after you, forever.”_

I want to cry anew, but my mouth is dry, I am dry. Last night held a strange catharsis, washing out all my self-pitying sadness, replacing it with a slowly dawning feeling of doom. Inevitability.

Acceptance.

I was afraid of Haru, but I was also afraid of myself. He was right, it was easy now, now that I hardly ever fought back, that I never screamed or begged for him to stop, to let me go, and for some reason I had believed that was a good thing. Just letting myself go limp. Distancing myself.

I hear approaching footsteps, and my muscles tense as the door is unlocked. The smell of mackerel wafts into the room as he approaches. He puts a plate down by my head, looking thoughtful.

“Good morning, Makoto,” he says, pulling off the blankets. I feel vulnerable without them.

His fingers trail along the chains, before looking at my wrists. His mouth twists unhappily.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, taking off, not even locking the door. When he returns, I see he is holding a first aid kit, and a new collar, this one a soft, shiny-looking material of bright green.

“You’ve been very good, Makoto,” Haru says, and he fixes the collar around my neck, affixing the chain to the bedpost with a padlock.

I say nothing, but my heart races as he puts his mouth by my ear, leaning over me to untie my wrists.

“I think I was… too harsh yesterday, Makoto, I’m sorry I hurt you. You didn’t deserve it.”

The rope falls away. He takes care not to put pressure on them as he draws his hands away.

“I don’t like hurting you Makoto, I hate it.”

His face moves from mine, and he unlocks the chain around my waist, nimble fingers drawing it away with a dull rush of clinking.

Finally, he frees my bound ankles.

I remain limp, and he observes as I don’t move, even as my bindings are removed one by one. I see it. Joy.

“Oh, Makoto,” he says, and I hear the happy note pushing against his breath, “you’re understanding. You’re understanding how much I love you. You don’t want to fight me anymore, do you? You don’t want to fight… I’m so sorry I hurt you, I shouldn’t have, it’s not your fault…”

Haru smiles, smiles genuinely for the first time since my captivity. His hands ghost the collar around my neck.

“I can’t wait, Makoto, for when we don’t need this anymore… but you still have things to learn… but first, you need to eat.”

He takes the mackerel, eyes lidded as he holds the food out to me. I slowly move my arms; they feel so weak, and take it. I look from the silvery fish to his enraptured expression, and I smile weakly.

“Thankyou… Haru,” I say, and I try to eat. The chopsticks won’t sit in my hands properly, my fingers won’t grip them. In horror, I realise there’s almost no feeling in my hands in all. Haru must see it on my face, because he grabs the food with one hand, and strokes my face with the other.

“It’s alright, I can feed you, don’t worry.”

I feel a familiar burn of shame and humiliation as he puts the food into my mouth, but it’s dulled, no longer bright and hot and enough to make me blush and splutter.

Acceptance.

I finish every bite without complaint, and after he wipes my mouth, he takes my wrists, lathering them with a soothing cream, wrapping them in bandages. While he works, I think.

Three months. I wonder how much could have happened since then. College entrance exams, third years graduating, preparing for colleges, for the rest of their lives. Nagisa and Rei, my family, would they be searching for me now? Often, early on, when Haru had kept me in tight chains day and night, he would caress my face and promise that if they tried to take me away, to break us apart, he would kill them, without hesitation. I had not believed him at first, but as the days wore on, and he seemed unmoved by my constant pleas, I slowly realised that he told the truth. Did he tell the truth when he said he didn’t wish to hurt me, even as he kicked me when I had tried to run the moment he took off the collar after my first bath? When he had tied my hands behind my back, screaming and choking me until I lost consciousness?

Was he telling the truth when I came to, covered in bandages, when he said that all he wanted was for me to be happy, to never worry again? When he said I was safe?

When he said he loved-

“Makoto.”

His voice, calm but curious, dragged me out of my reverie.

“Sorry, did you say something, Haru?”

His eyes narrow.

“You didn’t hear me?”

My heart stops.

“I- it just felt so nice,” I lie, “the cream on my wrists, your hands, sorry… it was… relaxing. You… fixing me.”

His eyes widen slightly, and he smiles, stroking the bandages with the pad of his thumb.

“That makes me happy to hear, Makoto,” he says, shuffling closer. I don’t move away.

“I’m glad, Haru-chan.” It slips out before I stop it. My heart pounds as I wait for his reaction.

And something in him moves, the blue suddenly shining, and he gives a strange, strangled cry, embracing me, both hands sliding up my face.

“You called me -chan,” he said wondrously, reverently, “I’ve been waiting for so long to hear you say it, Makoto, so _long_.”

I don’t stop him as he kisses me, heated and passionate. I don’t stop him from pulling my head down to his chest, pressing me against him. I don’t stop him as he endlessly strokes my back, my head, my arms.

“Makoto, my Makoto,” he breathes as he does so, “ _mine._ ”

I am too tired.

And I finally accept.

 

-

 

I don’t stop him as the endless days go on, when he eventually chains me to his bed, curling against me and around me every night, always whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I don’t stop him when he finally takes the collar off for good, when my arms and legs have wasted away, and I can barely walk, and he praises me for loving him back, for finally understanding that we belong together.

I don’t stop him as he continues to feed me, bathe me, clothe me, and caress me, every morning, every night, always repeating the same words.

“I love you, Makoto. My Makoto, mine forever.”

 

His.


	2. Anything for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Didn't you... hear me? I have been waiting for so long, Makoto,” he says, hooking his arm under my thigh and pulling it painfully upwards, “all those wasted nights together, I'm done waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh. Updating on Christmas Day because... Merry Christmas?  
> I have been having some serious anxiety issues since moving back in with my mother (I wrote most of the day because she is just fucked up), panic attacks, physical illness, and the like, and it's made it difficult to enjoy things. Really hard to concentrate on anything, and I've also been feeling extremely insecure about my writing lately, but I want to improve so I have written about 20 decent drafts of different things in the last month, I just can't bring myself to finish them because I get so anxious about it.
> 
> And with that I present my first ever actual smut; I can't believe I wrote this in all honesty. It's definitely non-con however, so be warned. I will update the tags to reflect this.  
> (just went through and added spaces because it was bugging the hell out of me. also this takes place earlier than the first part... I tried to make it seem so.)

My hands were behind my back; the ground was so cold, so hard, I couldn't-

“Makoto.”

My breath hitched as fingers curled around my chin, gripping. A whimper escaped me as I felt the point of his tongue; warm, wet, sure, slide across my lips.  
  
“Makoto,” Haru repeated, his voice terrifyingly husky, and I pulled away, I tried. Heavy chains prevented me from moving too far, wrapped around my legs and arms, pinning me to the floor. I could feel Haru beside me, one arm exploring my chest and stomach with possessive fingers.  
  
I couldn't see a thing.  
  
“You're mine, Makoto,” Haru said softly, running his hand through the tangle of hair at my crotch, testing his touch. Fresh tears welled in my eyes, and I felt them soak into the cloth wrapped around my face.  
  
“Say it, Makoto,” he said, voice sounding further away, and now he was gently flicking the space between my thighs with his tongue, pressing kisses to the skin.  
  
“H-Haru... please...” I wept, twisting my legs. He hissed as I pulled away from him, seizing the back of my knees.  
  
“Why don't you understand?” he asked, nails digging in painfully, “I love you, Makoto.”  
  
I feel his hair brush the inside of my leg, and I suppress a cry as he licks at it, drawing closer.  
  
“You said you loved me, Makoto,” he said, his voice muffled, and I shook with terror.  
  
“Don't you want us to be together?”  
  
His hand grips and move my right leg further away, and I can't see him, but I know where his head is, because I can feel his hot breath, and I don't want him there, he shouldn't be there, why was he doing this-?  
  
“Wa-wait!”  
  
He doesn't pause as he begins to run his tongue along my cock, reaching the head and gently licking the slit. He envelopes it with his mouth, drawing a little cry from me. The sound of Haru wetly sucking my dick, combined with the feeling of his warm mouth around it, sends nausea and heat in strange tandem to my stomach. Haru grunts, taking my length to the base, the head hitting the back of his neck. I wriggle slightly, angry at myself for enjoying it at some base level. Haru, he shouldn't be doing this, how could he do this? I'm suddenly glad I can't see his face; the face I had grown up with, the face I had loved. How could it be the face smiling and moaning as he did this to me?  
  
At least this way I can try and pretend that it isn't Haru, that it's someone else, anyone else. Just not him.  
  
When I start to squirm and twist my hips, he finally slides away, flicking the tip of his tongue against my wet opening.  
  
“Oh, Makoto,” Haru breathes, “I can't wait any longer.”  
  
There's a pop, and I hear Haru slathering something on his hands wetly. What is he-?  
  
“Agh!”  
  
There's sudden coldness, tracing my entrance delicately. Haru makes a throaty growl, before I feel a single finger slide in through the ring of muscle, digging and hooking inside me. The sensation is so alien I almost shout, but I manage to keep silent as he starts moving it about, testing, pressing. It hurts slightly, too, and when I feel added pressure of a second finger, stretching and splaying, I try to move away, shaking my head.  
  
“St-stop, stop!” I weep, twisting and turning. There's a pause, and I feel the two digits slide out, and Haru lets go of my leg. A relieved sigh is halfway out of my lips when he sits on my chest. There's a moment, before he slaps me across the face. Lube is smeared all over my skin, and I can hear his quick breathing as I am slapped again and again.  
  
Finally, his lips press to mine, and with a horrified jolt, I realise what I can feel pressing against my bare chest is his erection, and he swivels his hips a fraction, letting it rub.  
  
“Makoto,” he whispers angrily, “if you don't want to be prepared, fine. I could barely stand it, anyway.”  
  
He slides off, and gives a frustrated snarl as I press my legs together.  
  
“Didn't you... hear me? I have been waiting for so long, Makoto,” he says, hooking his arm under my thigh and pulling it painfully upwards, “all those wasted nights together, I'm done waiting.”  
  
I hear the pop of the tube opening again, and I almost squeak as I feel the slick head of his dick touching my entrance. I let out a cry of pain as he carefully pushes in, because it hurts, much worse than the two fingers, and even when he stops, grunting, my legs tremble with the pain.  
  
“No, no,” I moan, “stop, please.”  
  
“Mnn, Makoto,” he murmurs, as he slowly begins shallow thrusts, going deeper with each movement of his hips. He hooks his other arm under my leg and shuffles forward slightly, and I scream as he finally buries it to the hilt, feeling like I am about to tear apart. I can feel every inch of him inside me, and I begin to howl as he begins to move in and out with agonising slowness.  
  
“Ah, ah! Makoto, how does that, ahn, feel?”  
  
He begins to move faster, and all I can hear are his pleasured pants, and all I can feel is the iron grip on my legs, and the horrible instrusion ripping me to pieces. I already feel a warm liquid dripping from where I've been split, torn, and it hurts so much.  
  
“S-Stop! Haru, stop! Please! Argh!”  
  
My uttering of his name only seems to invigorate him. Through the haze of pain and horror, as he rams into me again, I feel a surreal spike of pleasure. I gasp, and buck my hips involuntarily, and I hear Haru give a satisfied grunt.  
  
“That feels good, doesn't it, Makoto?” he pants, keeping a steady rhythm, “Agh! Ah, you feel so good, Makoto, you're so tight.”  
  
My skin is slick with sweat, and as he hits the spot again, sending hot waves through my body, I arch my back slightly, even as my bound arms strain.  
  
“Haru, no-”  
  
Haru throws himself forward into and onto me me, letting go of my legs, instead wrapping his arms under and around my shoulders, drawing us closer, our sweat slicking on each other's skin.  
  
“Ah! Ah! Makoto, Makoto, Makoto!” he cries, and I feel his fingers fumbling with my blindfold. Every time he says my name, he thrusts, and finally the cloth blinding me falls away. Haru's face hovers above me, flushed and dripping with sweat, his eyes blown wide and mouth open as he gasps and pants. Blue eyes locked on my face, and his mouth curls into a wild grin. I can barely focus through the mire of pain and pleasure shocking my being, and he leans down, holding me tightly, and presses a sloppy kiss to my mouth. I dimly realise the pressure in between us is my own erection, and as he moves, his toned stomach rubs against it, sending shocks down it's length. Haru notices, his mouth gasping and grinning, and one of his hands whips away from my chest, fingers wrapping around the shaft; he begins to pump in time with the movement of his hips.  
  
“ Ha-Haru!” I cry, and he draws his lips away from mine, eyes gleaming with passion.  
  
“You look so good, Makoto,” he pants, “you're the best, you're so good-!”  
  
It's too much, the sensations. I throw my head back, tongue lolling out as I begin to moan, but even as the warmness washes over me, I can see the chains around my legs, I can feel the strain in my arms. It stills my heart, and I feel my hardness ebb immediately as I am reminded of exactly what Haru is doing.  
  
He doesn't even notice, too wrapped up in his own pleasure, free from fear. He screws his eyes shut as he slams against me.  
  
“AHH! Makoto!” he screams, “I'm going to-!”  
  
He tightens his grip, and suddenly I feel terribly full, hot, like my insides were expanding. Haru releases a drawn-out moan as he slowly slips out, and I feel his warm come dribbling from my hole, pooling by my thighs. He is panting, letting out tiny moans of pleasure, crawling up my form, pressing kisses to my skin as he went.  
  
“You're... amazing...” he groans, his cheeks still flushed, and his eyes sparkling under his thick hair, “you're so amazing, Makoto.”  
  
He sighs, lying on my chest, face full of softness and contentment. His hands caress my face lovingly, but I feel sick, feeling the slowly-cooling mess under me, knowing that Haru not only inflicted it, but enjoyed it, enjoyed it to the point of orgasm. I wanted to cry.  
  
“You know,” Haru said thoughtfully, curling up beside me, face still starry, “when I used to dream about it, I thought it would be the other way around. We should do it that way too, you're so big.”  
  
His eyes hungrily trail down from my face to my dick, softening without release. He frowns, stroking it with a finger.  
  
“You didn't come, Makoto,” he says in a low voice, and even the afterglow can't hide his anger. His nails dig into me and I squirm.  
  
“We feel so good together,” he continues, glaring at it, then at me, “why didn't you come?”  
  
“Please... it was my first time, Haru, I didn't-”  
  
“Oh,” Haru says suddenly, looking thoughtful. He shakes his head, before pressing a kiss to my lips.  
  
“Some people need to take it in steps, my Makoto,” he murmurs, and I wonder if the lust returning to his eyes is more terrifying than his anger, “I forgot.”  
  
He suddenly stands, and begins fiddling with the chains near my legs. I dare not move, and when he returns to me, he sits me up against the wall. I can feel the wetness and soreness around my ass, and when I look where I had been lying, I see the spot is smeared with Haru's semen and my own blood. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.  
  
“I can help you, Makoto, it's alright.”  
  
Haru wraps his legs around my waist, leaning against me.  
  
“W-wait,” I whisper, as I watch him take his already hardening cock and my own in his hands, “Haru, what are you-?”  
  
He begins to slowly stroke both of our dicks at the same time, fixing his eyes on mine. It's gentle, and the recent pleasure I felt suddenly returns, burning, aching. Haru smiles as my dick hardens at his touch, and begins to squeeze a little harder.  
  
“Mmn, how does that feel, Makoto?”  
  
It feels good, I can't deny it, but it doesn't mask the nausea in my stomach, the aching of my heart. I had wanted this before, I had wanted this when Haru and I were still just friends, when I had pined but had believed nothing would really ever come of my feelings. I didn't think Haru liked me in that way, and even if he did, I... I couldn't believe he would do this.  
  
“S-Stop.”  
  
His hand freezes, and a flicker of annoyance crosses his face. He doesn't say anything, but begins to stroke us again.  
  
“Please! Haru, I don't... I don't want it, not like this-!”  
  
He digs his nails into the sensitive skin, and I shout, twisting in my confines.  
  
“You say that,” he hisses, now letting his fingertips stroke the marks, “but you're still enjoying it, aren't you?”  
  
“Not like this, please, Haru, I never imagined you'd-”  
  
He suddenly grips the back of my neck, using it to haul himself forward. I shout in pain as he pulls, and then feel the clack of his teeth on mine as he mashes our mouths together. I struggle, trying to pull my head away, but his hand remains firmly clamped, and he snarls in my mouth.  
  
Finally, when I start to sob quietly, he pulls away, looking at my tear-strained face in with warring annoyance and his old concern.  
  
“Makoto, don't you understand?” he says softly, brushing away the tears, “we feel so good together. It's what lovers do.”  
  
He returns to his old position, thighs resting on mine, and I watch as he lets drool spill from his mouth and cover our cocks, spreading warmness.  
  
“Ah,” he sighs, as he begins to caress them both, “ah, Makoto, I love you.”

-

I chew mechanically, feeling Haru hum beside me. The moment I swallow another morsel is put against my lips, and I open my mouth obediently. When there is no more left, he lets out a satisfied noise, and chopsticks clatter against the bowl. His fingertips trail the blindfold on my face, and I can feel his too-hot breath fanning onto my cheeks.  
  
“Makoto,” is all he says, drawing me towards him. I expect to feel his mouth on mine, but instead my forehead collides with the crook of his neck, and he lets out such an unHarulike chuckle as I make a small noise in surprise. I feel the cloth loosen, and he tugs it away.  
  
He's shirtless again, and already his fingers are fiddling with the buttons on my shirt. It comes down to my bound hands, but that seems enough for him, as he settles us both against the wall.  
  
“All those times we swum around other people,” he said softly, tracing down my bare back, “and I could see them looking at you, ogling you... I didn't like it, Makoto.”  
  
I take a peek at his face; he is staring into the distance, unsmiling.  
  
“Everyone did, whether they meant to or not,” he continued, and he catches my eye, his own lidding slightly, “at practise, at meets, in public... It made me so... irritated.”  
  
He pushes back the hair from my eyes, leaning down a little. His ocean gaze is so terrifyingly dark; I don't understand it at all.  
  
“It was no surprise, of course, who could resist looking at you, Makoto?” his eyes shimmering as he murmured my name, like a prayer, “but once they started, they could get ideas, that they could have Makoto for themselves.”  
  
“Haru-” I said softly, unsuredly. Where was he going with this?  
  
“No-one will ever look at you like that again, my Makoto, never ever again.”  
  
He finally kisses me, and I close my eyes. If he caught me with them open, he would accuse me of faking. I guess he was trying for a sweet kiss.  
  
“Only I can look at you,” he whispered, running his hands all over my skin, “only me.”

-

“WHY. DON'T. YOU. UNDER. STAND?!”  
  
Every syllable is punctuated with a kick to my stomach, and I feel bile rise in my throat as his foot connects again with the weakened flesh, threatening to spill from my lips. Fingers tangle themselves in my hair and Haru drags me upward by the strands. I scream as the roots are pulled to their limit by my body weight, but Haru is shrieking too, ringing with terrible anger.  
  
He throws me to the floor again, and I feel my right shoulder explode with pain as it connects first to the tile; I have no time to even think before Haru is straddling my chest. My feet are already twisted up in cuffs and chains, and I jerk them uselessly as his furious face glares down at me. I try to hold up my hands; but they're cuffed too.  
  
“MAKOTO. I TOLD YOU TO STAY.” Haru screeched, and his right fist was a blur as it connected with my cheek. It was followed by the left, twin blooms of pain on both cheeks. He made another four jabs in succession, before suddenly seizing my right shoulder, lifting it, and smashing it back into the tile.  
  
I howled in pain as he started to lift it again, and through my tears I could see his blue eyes ablaze, mouth twisted in a snarl, and with an even greater shove, brought it down again.  
  
“Why would you try to leave me? Don't you love me?!” he hissed as I writhed, grabbing both of my arms and pulling them upward. They were stuck behind my back, still, and my wrists became unbearably stuck in the handcuffs, as he tried to pull them from the sockets. I could feel them threatening to come apart, and fresh tears of terror and pain cascaded down my face.  
  
“HARU, STOP-”  
  
He punches me in the jaw. The tip of my tongue was caught between my teeth, and I tasted iron.  
  
Then there were fingers around my throat. Pressure, horrible, horrible pressure is applied to my windpipe, and suddenly I can't breathe. Blood coats the inside of my mouth, horrible liquid dripping into my throat. My heart pounds desperately against my ribcage, but there's no oxygen, there's nothing. I can't think, I can't do anything, I'm in the ocean again; I'm going to- I'm going to-  
  
“Heeeelp, Haaah-ruuu-” I gasp as dark spots cover my vision, “I'm... drooowning-!”  
  
The pressure on my throat eases immediately, but it's too late, the water's taking me. I can see it, blue, deep, dark, cruel.  
  
I'm drowning.

-

It's calm here.

I'm slowly falling through the dark, but it's not frightening, I don't have any fears left.  
  
I'm free aren't I?  
  
 _Makoto._  
  
That's my name. I'm Makoto.  
  
I don't need to close my eyes, I don't need to do anything. I feel perfectly safe.  
  
There's no pain.  
  
 _Makoto._  
  
I think of Haru, and I want to feel saddened or angry or guilty.  
  
I don't feel anything.  
  
It's nice.  
  
“MAKOTO.”  
  
I jerk awake, and the first thing I notice is pain.  
  
My arms, my legs, my face, my neck- they all burn and throb with pain. Stinging pain, of the scratches and the punches, and the deeper, more insidious pain, the one that tells you something deeply wrong has occurred, that your body isn't going to recover quickly.  
  
“Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto.”  
  
My arms and legs are in their bound positions, but my stomach turns at the sight of violet-indigo bruising on my thighs, and I wonder if my arms look the same.  
  
“Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto, Makoto.”  
  
I try to turn my head, and a raspy scream bursts from my throat. I can't. My neck feels like it's collapsed on itself. As slowly as I can, I swivel slightly to see bright blue eyes only inches from my face, mouth and breath forming my name over and over. He makes a strangled cry, hugging me close.  
  
“I thought you had left me forever, Makoto,” Haru whispers, “but you can't, can you? You're mine, you can never leave. Never.”  
  
He has one arm around my chest, the other caressing my head, and his breath comes shallow and quick.  
  
“You scared me, you scared me... don't do that again.”  
  
I try to move my arms, and my shoulders shriek with pain. A shocked cry sounds through the room and Haru stills, head pressed to mine. With a shock, I feel dampness where his cheek is against my skin; he's crying.  
  
“Makoto,” he says quietly, “I had to do it. You don't understand, you tried to leave, you said you loved me, but you tried to leave me.”  
  
His breathing is erratic, heartbeat wild. My blood feels frozen.  
  
“But I know you meant it,” he whispers, “you would never lie to me about that. I know you love me. You just don't know how to show it... that's why I need to teach you, Makoto.”  
  
He draws around to look at my face. His eyes shine with obsession and unshed tears.  
  
“I'll do it, as long as it takes,” he says, “anything for you, my Makoto.”  
  
I feel his arms move, and he places the familiar strip of cloth across my face, blinding me. Reducing me to the darkness, surrounded only by his pain and his touch and his voice. He wants it this way, he wants to be the only thing I can sense, I've learnt this. It chills me.  
  
He lies me down, arranging pillows to support my aching neck; spreading a blanket over me. He smoothes the hair from my forehead and places a gentle kiss, right in the centre. I let out a sob and he shushes me softly, kissing me again.  
  
“I'll do anything, Makoto.”

 

I know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> therewillbecubes.tumblr.com  
> (shoot me an ask with like fic ideas, aus, that kinda thing, if you want.)
> 
> I am hoping that wasn't terrible. Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this initially at my tumblr therewillbecubes.tumblr.com
> 
> (also prepare for more Free! Yandere... because that is happening.)


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